ones and zeroes

Better living through modern chemistry.


stop breathing.

As people across the world muse over the Coachella flyer over and over again, it's time to step back and really assess some 5 Good Reasons Why You Need to Go to Coachella This Year. Ignore all the hubbub about this year's lineup not being able to match up to last year's; if you went around thinking about things in those terms, you'd drive yourself crazy. It's not even a matter of "topping" things anyway - a festival should stay true to the roots it was built on and not just set its sights on grabbing the biggest names to top itself, and this year Coachella definitely seems to do that with a random hodgepodge..

(Uno). Breakfast Buffet>Joshua Tree

2. Jay Belin gets Culkined just as the words "say it ain't so" belt out across the desert.

three. spoon/MF Doom/Radio 4/Four Tet/Secret Machines/Mercury Rev/Bloc Party/Raveonettes/Sage Francis/Wilco/Weezer/Coldplay!

IV. Shout Out Louds/Futureheads/Fiery Furnaces/British Sea Power/The Arcade FireThe Faint/Black Star/Bright Eyes/Prodigy/New Order/Nine Inch Nails!


lineup officially announced!

Notably missing: Franz Ferdinand (Day 1 could use 'em).

Notably making me giddy: Day 2's orgiastic British Sea Power/Arcade Fire/Fiery Furnaces/Nine Inch Nails/Bright Eyes/The Faint/Shout Out Louds Combination.


sunnyside up, c'mon!

a thunderous thursday

There are a few bands that I can think of who I would love to see anytime at all. If they threw a weekly party I doubt I'd ever get sick of them. !!!'s a prime contender. RANA's a no-brainer. Thursday night they offered up another rocking set and I was glad to have Ani on hand to expose her to the RANA goodness. As I've said before, I don't know the names of more than a few RANA songs but the absolute turning point of the show was when, before a song, Matt announced that the about-to-be-played jam was dedicated to someone named Allie and her travels. At some point the song unmistakably shifted into a jam that everyone knew would be absolutely sick. Ramie walked by and said something to the tune of here it goes, here it comes, now it starts, either way all I knew was he was excited and I was excited and Ani gave me the "yes, I too am finally excited" nod. Hook, line, and sinker. Couple of highlights were the Buzzcocks cover and the fact that this show started where the last one ended - with the new song Charm Bracelet, probably one of my favorite RANA songs.

After the show Lucy, Ani, Johnny, Action and myself reconnoitered outside and attempted to squeeze five people into a cab. We filed into our first try , at which point the cabbie started the meter, and then turned around and very slowly counted the number of people in the backseat. That jive-talkin' bastard wouldn't have any of it, and proceeded to eject us from his damn cab. Luckily our next dude was ultra-friendly and ultra-willing to break this silly little law. In celebration, we cruised over to Around the Clock for a 2 AM pigout. This, friends, was ridiculous. Starting off with a huge plate of loaded nachos and hummus with whole wheat pitas for the whole table, I followed things up by ordering a Belgian Waffle, 2 Sunnyside Up Eggs, and a side of Crispy Bacon. All that plus one of Ani's mozzarella sticks and I was stuffed till Friday afternoon. Action skipped off like a little girl to catch a cab and we parted with Beach a few blocks later. One bowl later I was out like a light and calling in sick to work the next day. Sweet.

aw geez, ya

Friday I met up with Lucy and Ani, who had slept over down the block at Lucy and Eileen's. We got some Dunkin' Donuts, smoked, watched the new Beck video (thank you Jay, Hell Yes! I say) and hung out till Ani caught a train home, at which point Lucy and I decided it was time for some fresh air. We walked all the way to Dylan Prime also known as my favorite steakhouse ever, where Eileen was working the dining room on one of her first shifts ever as a server. She hooked us up with some rockin' gin and tonics and a couple of rolls that reminded me that everything, EVERYTHING at Dylan Prime is top-notch, right down to the fucking bread. At that point we cruised back up town to rent Fargo and grab some pad thai.

Fargo, for those of you who don't know, is one of the Coen Bros' best outputs of their pretty prolific career. It's a beautifully told story that's about nothing short of human nature. Steve Buscemi pulls out all the stops as usual in a role perfectly suited to him, while William H. Macy works his nervous nerve up to a peak performance. And yet the actor doing the most striking job the entire way through the film is, in my opinion, Frances McDormand, someone I wish I saw more on the big screen. To the untrained eye her role in the film might seem a little tame, and almost easy, but she's a master of what she doesn't say. Her body language just astounds me, and the simple wisdom of her character, a pregnant cop in the frosty northern midwest, makes you really appreciate what the Heartland of America is supposed to be about. I think it's time to continue this Coen Bros. kick and rent Barton Fink.

Now, homework, The Sun Also Rises, and Brideshead Revisited. So long.


lightning struck itself


Last night after returning from a rousing round of sushi, Sapporo and udon at Sapporo East with Lucy's old roommate Hyunju (how we missed her!) we slid back over to Lucy's apartment where we opened up a couple more Sapporos and proceeded to watch TV. First up was Katie Couric's special on sexuality and teens and parents, which was pretty entertaining and cheesy as hell. Then, after a little Real World action and some stupid-ass shit called My Super Sweet Sixteen that made me want to detonate Middle America, it was finally time for Conan O'Brien, who was running a repeat that included P. Diddy, Dave Navarro, and Interpol. We didn't manage to stay up past the P. Diddy segment, but what's really important is that we were reminded of a single freaky fact - La Bamba of the Max Weinberg Seven bears an uncanny resemblance to my very own father. Observe:

What can this mean? Well, obviously, Conan O'Brien is my uncle and I am officially way cooler than any of you due to that one illustrious fact. I wonder if I could alert Conan to this situation and somehow get on the show in a skit about my long lost Papa La Bamba. That would be the bee's knees.

scatter and shatter

- It's good to see that somebody cares.

-Hustle and bustle kills people.

-My good friend Ben who writes as much and as well as I wish I could has resumed updating his blog with my favorite things he writes, the ongoing series of Complet Thoughts.

-Ambitious-Outsiders claim to have the inside track on multiple Coachella confirmations, and is keeping track of many others announced elsewhere, including: Coldplay, Nine Inch Nails, Rilo Kiley, Bloc Party, the Bravery, the Fiery Furnaces, the French Kicks, BRITISH SEA POWER, the Futureheads and Ambulance, LTD. I'm amazed at the possibility that I might be able to see NIN at Coachella. That is so awesomely random.

-Don't forget to follow the hopskotch trail Jay is drawing all over the city sidewalks today, all roads of course leading to:

There, Larry, I hope that whets your appetite for the full-size flyer.

And I hope to see as many of you as possible at RANA tonight. I'll be headed over there just in time for their set with Lucy, Ani, and Ani's hippie chickadee friend Julia after sinking to the depths and watching the OC yet again.


quick notes.

-Don't plan on riding the C train anytime in the near future.

-Eileen would like to announce that she engaged in a most successful booty call last night, with everyone's favorite Colombian Moe stopping by and managing to sit through a billion games of Mario Tennis without going crazy.

-Ani is taking "Circus Skills" to fulfill her gym requirement, which means she is officially enrolled in Clown College.

-Everybody should be planning on catching RANA this Thursday evening after slamming some free drinks with J Good Times.

I Pray, Ole

pobody's nerfect

I don't know quite why this on my mind today, since I don't have the album myself and haven't copied it from Lucy yet, but if you haven't heard the Hockey Night album Rad Zapping yet, you're missing out bigtime. Last year we were all treated to the Unicorns' awesome Who Will Cut Our Hair When We Die? which was easily the most random CD I'd come across in a long time. Hockey Night takes the word random and makes a religion out of it. If this line from Pitchfork's too-poorly-scored review doesn't get you excited...well, I know Jay will appreciate it: "For you see, Hockey Night, the conceptual outfit of one Paul Sprangers, skips from genre to genre like little kids playing hopscotch." One minute guitars are thrashing, the next we've got Canadian whiteboy rap about Space Cakes and mushrooms, next thing you know you're lost in a trippy ambient instrumental, or listening to what sounds like black girls in a schoolyard singing jump-rope songs. And if you're willing to shell out the big bucks for the actual CD instead of sniffing out a friend's copy, the album art will NOT disappoint. Also, I'm pretty sure the words "Desert Culkin" show up on one of the tracks.

diamond dawgs

Last night after returning home, a pathetic scene ensued involving me, resin, and a lot of keyboard playing. I've been having a lot of fun spending any free few minutes I have trying to compose some random electronic little ditties, and last night I got too spaced out for my own good and ended up nearly giving myself a headache. So I leaned back in my seat and decided to tell iTunes to put my entire Bowie library on shuffle and see where I ended up. After skipping some Station to Station in hopes of something more upbeat, I found myself leaning forward inbetween my left and right speakers and closing my eyes while the song Rock and Roll With Me off of Diamond Dogs rocked my world. The last time I can even remember listening to that song so closely was a year and a half ago when Lucy and I came back from a steak dinner in Vancouver to our hotel room's balcony where we split a pair of headphones and a fat fat doobie. Time is a weird, weird thing.

Anyway, I got to thinking about it, and many people seem to think that Diamond Dogs is a blip in Bowie's career, an unfortunate failure nipping at the heels of such predecessors as Aladdin Sane and, of course, Ziggy. Essentially Bowie's version of 1984 (since the Orwell estate refused to give him the rights to adapt the novel into an album - yes, he really asked to), Diamond Dogs sees Bowie flexing his concept album muscle to the max, giving us a jazzy horn-filled barren landscape of the future. Bowie places himself in the roll of Halloween Jack (a real cool cat), who's up against the big bad businessmen, the Diamond Dogs. Bowie's downfall at times in his career is forgetting his innate ability to entertain and trying too hard. Well, he definitely tries very very hard on Diamond Dogs but in overshooting the mark, he manages to hit it spot-on, if that makes any sense whatsoever. So if you haven't listened to the double D for a while, I suggest you break it out and give it a spin.


empty stomach, PRB, drunken blog

I was going to change the "PRB" in the subject to its proper form as PBR, but it only goes to further illustrate that when all you've had all day from 8:30 to 6:45 is coffee, OJ, and a raspberry muffin, one Pabst down the hatch will do you dizzy. Cheers.

"blizzard" bitches

Perhaps you heard about this fabled "blizzard" over the weekend. Yes, you probably watched the snowflakes fall and fall as Saturday progressed, steadily downward and downward, piling up, giving us all high hopes for no school, no work, no cars, civilization on shutdown. Well, folks, following Sunday's most anticlimactic close to this "blizzard" (bah!), I now wish to rundown my top 3 Blizzard Bitches:

Blizzard Bitch #1:, for being way off the mark, as fucking usual.
Blizzard Bitch #2: Mayor Michael Bloomberg, for this:

"This really is a dangerous storm that is coming in," Bloomberg told reporters before the snow began falling at noon. "One of the forecasters compared it to the blizzard of '96, and it can be life threatening." In 1996, New York City received 20 inches of snow as records were shattered across the Northeast.

You asshole! Way to get me psyched for a paltry dusting of fluffy goodness.

Blizzard Bitch #3: Last but not least we have Matt Drudge of the infamous Drudge Report who, in usual tabloidesque fashion, had headlines liked "NYC: BIG CITY BURIED" and lied to millions of visitors to his webpage while I sat here looking out of Lucy's window Not buried. Not buried at all.

Anyway, though I was disappointed with the amount of snowfall, we made quite a weekend out of it. Saturday kicked off with many rousing bouts of Mario Power Tennis for GameCube, easily one of the best games I've ever spent time playing, ever. Jay didn't make it but we kicked his ass in spirit. While the snow continued to fall, Beach called Lucy out on one of the X-Mas gifts she'd given him: a promise to clean his entire apartment. So Lucy left, and at the same time Eileen came home, a pleasant surprise - she'd been let out of work at Dylan Prime early. Bringing 3 bottles of wine and a strong desire to see a good movie with her, she set the night up for its slambang finish. When Lucy returned the three of us played more Mario Tennis, then made our way over to Sapporo East where much Sapporo was drunk along with 2 steaming bowls of udon (Yasai and Niku, for those curious). Eileen and I also split a Dragon Roll (eel, cucumber, avocado draped on top) that easily, EASILY takes the cake as Single Freshest Sushi Roll I've Ever Eaten Ever Ever.

Fresh and full off our meal we sat down to a puff and some delicious chianti, popped Magnolia into the DVD player and sat down for an emotional thrill ride that led to tears slipping down my cheeks as Philip Seymour Hoffman made the bed of Earl Partridge, who'd just died. Philip Seymour Hoffman is every director's fantasy. Magnolia is Virginia Woolf's wet dream.

Once Sunday rolled around I was thoroughly annoyed that the snow had stopped falling. While weathermen had predicted continued snowfall through Sunday afternoon by the time I was up a little past noon the skies were silent and things had tapered off. Luckily, the Battle of the Birds turned out just the way that we'd hoped and the Eagles were headed to the Superbowl - unfortunately, no Pennsylvanian Subway Series could be hoped for as the Steelers sunk beneath the ridiculous passes of Tom Brady and the New England patriots. Damnit. New England's not even a state!

Once the games were over a famished trio of Lucy Eileen and Tumblehawk trudged their way through the shapeshifting slush to Boca Chica only to find it CLOSED! Motherfucker! Back it was all the way to 8th to trusty Yaffa Cafe, and the night found itself ending.

salut, sea ray, so long

On Friday, before any of this happened, we got to see a good, good show. Kicking off with Say Hi To Your Mom (Eric is our new friend), the Mercury Lounge was building up in energy as everyone anticipated the reason for the night at all - Sea Ray's last show. I'd only seen the band once before but I was definitely sad to see them go, ESPECIALLY following Friday night's performance. Following right after Mobius' Band performance (which I thought was solid, especially the vocals, something I've thought they needed to strengthen for a while), Sea Ray pretty much melted the crowd. The touching, moving nature of the show was simply palpable and there was nothing left to do but drink the night away. We shot the shit with Say Hi To My Eric for a while at the merch table, and looked pretty ready to go when Daylen was heading home, since Lucy and I live within a block of her. But then there was beer. And is good! So we drank it, and went home, and then everything you read about above this happened. Pretty trippy, huh? Nah, not really.


oh, and

holy gin and tonic I can't believe I forgot to mention this. This one's for you Jay. So last night before the three of us went to see RANA, Eileen convinced Lucy and me to sit down and have our first O.C. experience with her. And I never thought I'd say it, but hell, I'd watch that show again. It's no Beverly Hills 90210, no way no how, but it was still a pretty entertaining watch. And I think we may have joined the bandwagon just in time for the lesbian storyline, rock! RANA's three-thursdays-in-a-row residency may now officially turn into three weeks of gin+tonic+OC followed by RANA. sweet.

but first, we walk around the world

the rana

RANA is so fucking good. Last night they played a lengthy and rocking psychedelic set at the Tribeca Rock Club that slammed my brain like time travel. See, I had returned to the scene of the crime, my first ever RANA show. Back then, March 22nd or so I want to say it was, Lucy and I had just returned from our previous stint in the Dominican Republic (way to sound spoiled, tumblefuck), smokeless for 12 days, and wound up rather out of mind standing against the wall of the soundman's booth chasing beer with beer and falling head over heels with every song RANA played. I was officially hooked. The guys were on last night, playing some new tunes that sounded great and all the old favorites, and had some cool as hell segues going on between songs. It was a really jammy set which I was really appreciating and there were moments so purely psychedelic that I couldn't help but grinning uncontrollably. After disappearing downstairs with Action (the only familiar face in the crowd, you punks) and resurfacing to a changed world, there was a moment in one song (I know the names of maybe 4 RANA songs, names shmames) where Matt rose up over his keyboards, grabbed the mic in one hand and sang something to the effect of "Get on up here!" as his other hand shot out and pointed to the crowd. I felt like some great and mighty rock god had singled me out of the crowd and it was in that moment I felt lifted off my feet, and had to fight the urge to just run up on stage and do the tumblebang between Ryan and Joe Russo's twin drumming. But I think RANA only allows dancers in red speedos since the Perry Incident, and I wasn't properly equipped, so I passed. I'll be back next Thursday. And next Thursday. RANA is an awesome band.

the pizza

After the show Lucy, Eileen and I trudged back through the cold to their abode, stopping by at the East Village Pizza and Kebab (which I live directly above) to grab a couple of slices. Lucy went to the deli across the street while Ei and I went into the Kebab, where I've been friendly with all the workers since I first moved in to my apartment. Lately I've noticed on late walks home they don't really wave anymore. And one of them seems genuinely pissed for no reason. And last night - where was the love?! The guy behind the counter gave Eileen a real dirty look after she said he didn't have to heat up her pizza. Less work = dirty look?! And then he gave me an attitude when I said I wanted mine heated up. Everything's falling apart in my world! Not really, I just scored Interpol tickets for Radio City, yet another show for the ninth street team to rock.

the flotsam

-Larry over at the Travails of the Astounding has put together a top-notch collection of photos and articles to create the uber-anti-Bush-inauguration post. The best part is the little factoid about FDR. George W. Bush is such an asshole.

-These people get to fucking vote.

-Sometimes I really wonder why, when everything points without question to one person, they still plead not guilty.

-NME visited this blog and that's how they found out that Coachella is indeed April 30th and May 1st. Seriously. But anyway, in that article those ostentatious Brits give some credence to the notion that both Coldplay and Franz Ferdinand will be playing the festival, and also mention that The Killers will be there for the second year straight to make up for what they felt was a shitty show they put on. Boy are they right. I can't take anyone seriously if they're a singing a song that actually has the phrase "indie rock and roll" belted out ballad style. Also, something about the album title "Hot Fuss" just pisses me off.

-Queens of the Stone Age, Webster Hall, March 24th. Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.

the jetsam

Quick random ramble, go: So of course the first day I can buy the new Nine Inch Nails album, With Teeth, I'm going to, but I can't help but wonder if this'll just be the last straw. I used to love NIN to a sick degree. Imagine little tumbleweed, without a tumbleweed to speak of, banging his crewcut away at one of hisefirst big big shows, NIN at Madison Square Garden for the Fragile tour, crying his first concert tears during the final song, Hurt. It was a great show and when I heard Reznor recently say he was a little disappointed by the tour and wanted to put on a better show next time, it got me real revved up to see them the next time around. So I've been trying to listen to them more lately, and I feel like whereas I once loved the lyrics and enjoyed the music, I now think the music is fucking excellently crafted and the lyrics are 10th grade poetry or something. And add to this that Reznor recently commented that With Teeth will be a "more lyric-based album." Uh-oh. Well, no one's in the office right now. Time to blast Closer.


!a moment for Coachella!

All right. First of all there's this:

Second of all, British Sea Power's Pollstar listing of tourdates includes a show in California on April 29th, and a show in California on May 1st. In other words, we should all prepare to rock to those seafaring Brits on April 30th under the California desert sun or stars. AND, if you scroll down those pollstar listings you'll see this:

British Sea Power, Bowery Ballroom, May 13th, 2005. Grin.

everybody's making love or else expecting snow

What a dark and dismal day to be American. Join in on Jay's call to arms and be sure to say Fuck Bush to yourself out loud today. It's the kind of weighted sentence that, if you say it outside, will probably turn the fog leaving your mouth into the words themselves. Maybe. Not making any promises, though.

What is the point of this website?


the greatest accomplishment of my life up to this moment, rocking Super Smash Bros. on acid aside, would have to be the awesomeness of the iPod (name: Jasper Jenkins) playlist entitled .walking. It's called .walking cause that keeps it right at the top of the list and it's chock full of 202 songs that always keep the feets a-moving, and is always growing, and when I get to the pearly gates I'll plead my case to God that yeah, I've been mean to strangers on the street. Yeah, I completely ignored that freshman yesterday who was asking me for help getting somewhere in Main building. Yeah, I've toked and drank, but hey - everytime I walk out my door, the walking playlist just telepathically links up to my state of mind, my destination, and the journey between, to offer me the best random smattering of music I could ask for. Even on a 10 minute trip to get laundry, it led me out the door with Primitive Radio Gods' Standing By a Broken Telephone Booth... all the way to Sew Good Cleaners, and led me back with Morphine's Top Floor, Bottom Buzzer. Nice work, Jasper Jenkins. Nice work.

Modest Mouse and My Morning Jacket are going to be at Bonnaroo? My birthday's two days before that...hmm..

my last semester?!

For a while there it looked like graduation wouldn't come to me until August but now, it seems to be clearer and clearer that for me, May is the end. I was sitting in class on my first day yesterday when that hit me like a ton of bricks. I've got a plan for a year from July, but all the time inbetween is an out-of-focus question mark swimming in secret sauce. Suggestions are quite welcome. Class rundown: Faulkner/Hemingway should be awesome. Linguistics is a good time to sleep. British Culture since 1945 will be awesome considering the first day consisted of a discussion of The Office and my teacher blasting Common People on the stereo system. Only one left to go is Monday's later class, Children's Tales and Folklore. Pretty good last semester, looks like.


Renting Mario Tennis for GameCube Saturday. Looking for asses to kick - Belin's just gonna be way too easy.


build your own culkin.

The triumphant return to NYC was ushered in beautifully. Dinner at Boca Chica, some goods, some wine, American Psycho, and then two nights of music - first Asobi Seksu (rock), The Features (awesome), and Razorlight (boo.) at the Bowery and the next night The National at the Mercury Lounge. They were good but the frontman's voice was definitely suffering a little from sickness. But definitely a good way to immediately plunge oneself back into the comings and goings of citylife. After being marooned at that house, as relaxing as it was, walking felt real strange - we walked more the first night we were back here than on any three days combined in the Dominican Republic. Long live lethargy.

Belin owes me a shot at his Mario Tennis title after totally skipping out on halftime gametime in order to see the Jets go down in shitty-kicking flames in overtime against the Steelers on Saturday, after which I returned to Jackson Heights to see if I could cure my mom's computer and get Ani really baked. All things were achieved and Ani gave me my first proper viewing of Ali G, yeshemesh. I greep, and pool. Sunday saw the Eagles mutilate the Vikings which could mean only one thing - Chili's. Oveis won the MVP award for driving Beach, Lucy, Daylen and myself to Paramus, NJ for a Build Your Own Monster Burger Bash. The burger concoctions were sick, as Beach managed to skip the Awesome Blossom appetizer and put it right on his beef. After filling up to maniacal proportions there was only one logical thing left to do. Oveis caught on to our mischievous ways and managed to evade anything close to a Culkin, which lead to me really want to culking SOMEBODY. So I gave Lucy a fake joking sorta push, leading Johnny to literally hurl himself down into the parking lot grass behind her. Way to go down, Lucy, way to go down.

The three day civil rights weekend ended at Barcade for Mia's dirty thirty. I gotta say, while they definitely did have some awesome games to boast about, I've got a couple of major complaints to lodge. Super Mondo Complaint #1 - MS. PAC-MAN WAS DOWN! What a sorry excuse for an Arcade to have no working pac-man game whatsoever, and then to tease me, YES TEASE ME, with MS. PAC-MAN (so superior to original pac-man it ain't even funny), and then have it not working at all, shame on you Barcade, shame on you! I guess the only other thing I wanted, and I know Builder wanted too, was for the game selection to spill over into the early-to-mid-90's era. Where was Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, the Simpsons, X-Men, and even Street Fighter? Would that get the kids too rowdy? God, I can only dream of a day when I've got a Magic Hat beside me as I'm kicking ass as Raphael. The drink rests between the machines, speaking of drinks - brilliant.

Today Lucy had her first day of school and I didn't have class at all. I woke up at 12:45, had two sunny-side up fried eggs, home fries, rye toast, and two cups of coffee at the counter at Veselka and then bought all my schoolbooks. It's fucking cold out. Winter sucks. The end. I'll write about something other than what I did with whom and where some other time when I feel like ruminating, and not tackling Lucy for her Game Boy Advance.



This Just In
Lucy Beach Announces Her Engagement To And Pregnancy By Manuel, Our Dominican Gardener

how i learned to tan, et al.

Let's get one thing straight - though you may see me after today sporting reddened skin and a healthy Carribbean afterglow, there is nothing about the feeling of sunrays soaking into my skin that doesn't freak me out. There's something absolutely eerie about basting yourself and then roasting out in the sun, literally baking yourself in the oven of the earth. But this time I just couldn't resist. Lucy and I, along with Nika and her friend Shupes, joined my dad and his great friend Martin at a house they'd rented in the Dominican Republic, and though when the sun was out it was in full force, we had to deal with multiple daily rains. Which made me so hungry for heat that I couldn't help laying out in the sun and doing absolutely nothing but getting color. Well, I'll admit it, I kind of enjoyed it.

mr. savage

The vacation kicked off beautifully, beautiful weather, German people, pool, terraces, fresh food, fried eggs every morning, and I dug into Aldous Huxley's Brave New World, which made me think - George 1984 Orwell who? Bah! I bet Huxley's book gets the short shrift because he went from writing awesome novels to writing Doors of Perception, his excellent description of his first foray into the world of mescaline. But anyway, Brave New World's awesome and I recommend it to everyone who, like me, has nightmares of a world where everyone's the same, there's no mobility, and you're defined as good or bad by your contributions to consumerism.


If you want a homemade caipirinha, ask me. The reviews were rave.

mrs. dalloway

Then my dad's friend Lida arrived. She's from Russia and just really awesome. She gets the credit for all these wonderful photos (though more will be posted when I get my grubby paws on Nika's camera). All was well in the world, things were dandy, my dad was cool. Then his girlfriend came, and well....anyway, let's just say if I already loved Mrs. Dalloway in a number amount of 1 Million, then I loved it 1 Million more than I loved that annoying ?girl? Here's another picture.


That's where spent the bulk of our time. We were definitely stranded in the villa since we had no access to our own car, but that wasn't really a bad thing.

benjy, quentin, jason and dilsey

Junior year of high school I got second prize (Larry of Travails of the Astounding won first) in a Poe recitation contest after doing my reading of The Raven, which I'd memorized in its entirety and recited quite glumly, staring blankly ahead of myself while dressed in a black turtleneck, black pants, and black shoes. I used to be cheesily depressed all the time. Anyway. The prize was a leatherbound edition of William Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury which I finally got around to reading, five years later, on this vacation. And holy fucking shit. The human mind is a difficult thing to mirror on paper, but....he did it. I change the description of this blog in homage to Faulkner's inspiration.

The whole vacation was dotted through and through by all this awesome reading, which is all I can bring myself to really talk about since what really happens on a carribbean vacation? There's just keywords: rum, Presidente, limes, rice, beans, fish, paddleball, tennis, pool, swim, beach, drunk, Scrabble, WTF, looking through a window by chance and seeing my dad having sex, subsequently being scarred for life, pushing Lucy into the pool, pushing Nika into the pool, driving 120 miles per hour down potholed Dominican roads and speeding up for speedbumps (Martin did the driving). Here, and that's that for now: